


Asylum

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Doctor/Patient, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Murder Mystery, Neurological Disorders, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Thriller, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: They told her that she was mad. They told her that she required treatment. What they didn’t tell her - and what they didn’t know - was that her psychiatrist was the mad one. [Tomione. A different kind of magical AU.]





	1. Chapter 1

.

.

.

.

.

**It _was_.**

It was there.

It was back again.

It was itching at her skin.

It was scratching at her bones.

It was piercing its way out, begging.

It was imploring and pleading for release.

It was reaching through her like a disease.

It was in need of being freed again.

It was something that just  _was_.

It was her personal disease.

It was her insanity.

It was death.

**It _was_.**

.

.

.

.

.

It was her asylum.


	2. It Was There

**A/N:**  I do  _not_ give trigger warnings. There will be content in this story that  _may_  make you uncomfortable. The two things that I will never write are graphic rape scenes or pedophilia, but everything else is fair game. You've been warned.

 **Synopsis:**  Hermione Granger has suffered from a mysterious neurological issue ever since she was a child. Every doctor and specialist her parents took her to couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. So, she decided to find out for herself by going to a school that specializes in neurology. Unfortunately, for Hermione, she wouldn't be finding out what is wrong with her by taking  _that_  path. The truth behind her ailment would lie with someone  _else_.

* * *

__

_"_ _Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life." –Edvard Munch_

* * *

 **It was**  there again – that pressure at the front of her skull.

 _Another migraine_.

They always happened at the most inopportune times, of course. In times of heightened emotions, elevated stress, and sensory overstimulation. In this case, it was the elevated stress that her midterms brought on. She dug into her knapsack for her prescription medication, and swallowed the pill using only the pool of saliva in her mouth. She was used to doing it that way now.

Hermione Jean Granger honestly  _loved_  her life right now; which was saying something. She was living in the small university town of Godric's Hollow, and was attending one of the most prestigious universities in all of England – Hogwarts School of Medicine. Her parents were both in the medical field – dentists – but she'd wanted to go to school for something that she held a little closer to her heart – neurology.

She was interested in neurology, because she'd always suffered from… _something_. What that something was, no one knew. There was no official diagnosis for what she had; so, she suffered in silence. One of those things she suffered from was intense migraines ever since she was eleven. The migraines would be so intense that she would sometimes blackout, and wake up in random places.

The first time it had happened, it had been terrifying. She remembered being a young girl, around twelve years old, waking up in her backyard. Chills ran through her as she remembered the cool, dewy grass, and the sunrise that was just beginning to paint beautiful colors across the sky. She remembered the sound of her parents frantic screaming coming from inside the house, calling and searching for her. She remembered the way the front of her nightgown stuck to the tops of her thighs, damp with wetness. She remembered the color of the dampness when she looked down – a deep crimson. She remembered the way the green and yellow feathers of her pet parakeet had been stuck to her hands, to her nightgown, in the grass, in her hair. The metal bird cage was bent in on itself nearby, twisted and gnarled into something demonic-looking. The remains of her beloved parakeet had been  _everywhere_ around her.

The horror on her parents face when they had finally found her matched how she'd felt on the inside.

She'd been  _horrified_.

They took her to doctor after doctor, specialist after specialist. There had been times when she'd been asked questions and she'd answer them. There had also been times where she'd had wires glued to her head and neck and the doctors made her sleep in a dark room by herself, the cameras always watching her. She'd liked that one the least. The feeling of being watched, but not being able to  _see_  was frightening. Test after test had been run and all the results had come back normal.

They'd  _always_  come back normal.

But Hermione didn't  _feel_  normal.

"I believe she just has an unusual case of sleepwalking disorder," one doctor had told her parents.

"It seems perfectly plausible," they'd said, their voices cracked from stress.

They'd lied to themselves, and said it was a sleepwalking disorder with intense migraines. Lying  _was_  a defense mechanism, of sorts.

Hermione wanted to lie to herself, too; but, she couldn't. She couldn't, because it had kept happening – her little episodes.

It wasn't incredibly often when it happened; but when it did, it scared her. The migraine would come and she'd suffer through it most of the day. The main thing that helped relieve it was sleep.

So, she slept.

But when she woke up, it was never where she'd originally laid her head down. When she woke up, there was always something bizarre that she had done in one of her fits.

One time, when she was fifteen, she woke up in the bathtub. All the pages of one of her favorite books had been torn up around her. The tiles on the wall looked like they had been cracked with something blunt. The shower curtains had been ripped to shreds. The vanity mirror lay in clean shards on the floor. What she remembered the most from that night was the defeated sob that escaped her.

When her parents found her, they were scared. She could see it in their eyes. Or, maybe, their eyes were a reflection of hers. It was difficult to be sure what her eyes showed, since the mirror had lain broken between them.

"Make it stop, Daddy," she'd sobbed, sliding on the pages in the tub as she tried to sit up. "I just want it to stop."

Her mum had covered her own mouth in heartbreak as she watched her daughter from the doorway and her dad carefully made his way across the glass on the floor to get to her. He'd sliced his foot, she'd remembered. It still didn't stop him from scooping her up out of the tub, and sitting with her in his lap on the edge of it, though. He'd started to rock back and forth, shushing comfortingly to her.

Hermione had cried and cried and cried into his shirt; tears and snot had accumulated there. "Why is this happening to me? I don't understand. I just want to be  _normal_. This isn't  _normal._ "

She knew it wasn't normal.

And their silence had told her that  _they_ knew it wasn't normal, either.

It was in that moment that Hermione had her awakening. She'd found her passion. She'd found her obsession. She'd found her reason.

If the doctors and specialists couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, then  _she_  would figure out what was wrong with her.

The very next day, she began researching everything she could about neurology. The brain – the mind – it was a fascinating thing and so few people truly understood it. It was mostly theories, philosophies, speculations, and conjectures.

For the next nine years, Hermione soaked up everything she could learn about how the human brain worked.

If anyone who truly knew Hermione Granger, they would probably say that it consumed her.

* * *

 **It was**  the morning of Hermione's midterms and she couldn't stop her leg from bouncing repeatedly underneath her desk. She felt confident of the answers to the questions, so it wasn't her nerves; it was the  _caffeine_. She should have had a regular cup of coffee instead of that double shot of espresso that morning. How  _idiotic_  of her. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and she filled in one of the bubbles on the sheet of paper. She flipped to the next page, and started reading the first question.

That's when she froze her bouncing leg, and quickly clenched her legs together. Oh, this was absolutely  _wonderful_! She needed to take a  _piss_  in the middle of her midterm! Bloody coffee and it's diuretic properties.

She did her best to hold it in, and concentrated on the last few pages of her exam. She heard the sound of a person here and there bringing their exams to the front, and gathering their things to leave the classroom quietly.

 _They probably didn't even answer half of the questions. There's no way that they both finished_ and _got a passing grade._

A shiver coursed through her when it began to get more difficult to hold her piss in.

 _Two more questions. Two more questions_ , was her mantra.

Two more questions had been answered. She quickly gathered her things as quietly as she could, and made her way to the front of the class. She set her exam face down on her desk and whispered with a smile, "See you next week, Professor McGonagall."

"Have a good weekend, Ms. Granger," came the older woman's short, but polite reply.

Hermione made a bee-line to the exit of the classroom to use the loo. All she could think about is that she was  _never_  going to have a double shot of espresso before an exam  _ever_  again.

"Oi, Granger!"

Hermione internally groaned, and rolled her eyes.  _Cormac McLaggen_. She almost didn't stop, but politeness was in her very nature. With a fake smile plastered on her face, she whirled around to face the obnoxious man.

"Yes, McLaggen?"

Cormac sauntered over to her then; he was all cockiness, undeserved arrogance, and irritating smiles. "So, Granger. I was thinking since midterms are over now, you'd finally have no excuse to say 'no' to going on a date with me."

His words barely registered; all she could think about was the pain in her bladder that could only be relieved by taking a piss. She rocked impatiently on the balls of her feet, and adjusted the knapsack on her shoulder. "Oh, um…wait, what?" she asked, distracted.

He leaned forward suggestively, or least he'd  _tried_  to - she wasn't sure. She just leaned back a bit from him, her eyes crossing as she tried to get her bearings. "You. Me. Date."

Her eyes widened. She really needed to go. She was about to piss herself. "Oh, I'm not so sure, McLaggen. I still have work…" she trailed off, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

"Oh, come off it, Granger. I know you have the time," he said a little harshly, but quickly changed his tactics to be sweeter. "Please? Just one date?"

Hermione's eyes darted around frantically as she thought of an excuse, when they landed on the ladies' room sign hanging on the wall behind McLaggen. She clenched her legs together as inconspicuously as possible. She couldn't hold it anymore. She needed to go.  _Now_.

"Fine, McLaggen," she bit out, and shoved passed him to get to the loo.

He called from behind her, "How does tomorrow night sound? Eight?"

Hermione waved the back of her hand at him in silent agreement.

"I'll text you!" he called out enthusiastically, but she ignored him.

Hermione rushed into a stall and dropped her bag onto the floor, not caring in the slightest if it got dirty or not. She sighed in relief once she got on a toilet. While she was peeing, realization slowly dawned on her that she'd willingly agreed to go on a date with  _Cormac McLaggen_  in her piss-holding induced haze.

She leaned forward, and rubbed her palms into her face with a groan. "Bloody Hell. I'm  _never_  having a double shot of espresso  _ever_ again."

* * *

 **It was**  a rather beautiful morning, Hermione knew, because of the way the soft sunlight filtered through the blinds of her bedroom in her little flat. A smile spread across her mouth when her fluffy mess of a cat nudged her face with his nose in greeting.

"Good morning to you, too, Crookshanks," she mumbled out, and stretched languidly from her spot on her bed. She sat up, and almost immediately regretted it. It felt like every drop of blood rushed to her head all at once, and left her feeling off-kilter. And then, the first dull throb hit her.

"Oh,  _no_."

_Not another migraine._

Hermione stood up, and made her way to the bathroom. She rummaged through her medicine cabinet, looking for her prescription pill bottle for her migraines. She pushed all the bottles around, and began to get more frantic in her search. "Where are they? Where  _are_  they?"

The bottle wasn't in her medicine cabinet. She paused, and thought of the last time she'd used it. Two nights ago. Living room. Studying. Knapsack.

She rushed out to her modest living room as the dull throbbing gradually increased. She found her bag, and dumped the contents on the coffee table. A relieved smile stretched across her face when she saw the orange and white bottle hit the table. When she picked it up and her heart clenched in dread again when she didn't hear the familiar sound of dry pills echoing in the bottle.

She shook it once.

Silence.

She shook it twice.

Quiet.

She twisted it open, and found that it was empty.

" _Damn it._ "

Hermione tried to remain calm. She'd forgotten to call the pharmacy to do her refill, because she'd been so preoccupied with midterms. Alright, it was going to be  _fine_ , because all she had to do was ring the pharmacy up right now and they'd be able to refill it for her and she'd have her medication within an hour or two and all she had to do was get some tea or some coffee or  _something_  in the meantime and she was going to be  _fine_.

Coffee was on her brain when she made her way into the kitchen; unfortunately, when she opened her cabinets, coffee was not on the shelf. Hermione let out another groan. She'd have to get dressed, and go to the coffee shop three blocks away to get her fix.

But, first, she needed to make that phone call.

* * *

 **It was**  a bit chilly out that morning, even for it being mid-October. Hermione wrapped her burgundy scarf tighter around her neck, and brought it up to cover the lower part of her face. Her nose was starting to run and the cold didn't seem to slow down the dull throb in her temples like she'd hoped it would.

Coffee, coffee, coffee. Hermione needed coffee.

Well, no. What she  _really_  needed was her medication, but coffee would have to suffice for now.

She'd made her way down the hustle and bustle of Saturday morning shoppers to reach her favorite coffee shop slash book store, Flourish & Blotts. It was her favorite place to study, aside from her flat. The musical twang of the bell when she opened the door made her cringe, but the intensely beautiful smell of ground coffee beans alleviated her impending migraine just a smidge.

As much as she loved the taste of it, she loathed that she was addicted to the stuff. Dependency was Hell.

Thankfully, it wasn't incredibly busy, so she hopped in the short line to wait her turn. She ordered just a plain coffee,  _not_  a double shot of espresso, thank you very much, and found an empty table to sit a wallow in her pain until the pharmacy called to tell her she could pick up her prescription.

Hermione took a sip of her coffee, and hunched over her iPhone sitting on the table, attempting to warm up. She was scrolling through her newsfeed when a text message popped up from a number she didn't recognize. She tilted her head to the side with a slight frown, and tapped on the notification.

_dont forget about tonite ;)_

Her frown deepened. Tonight? She wasn't doing anything tonight. She texted them back.

_I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number._

She went back to scrolling through her newsfeed, and took another sip of her coffee when another notification came.

_Hermione? it's Cormac. I got ur number from Ron_

She threw her head back, and groaned loudly, which earned her an odd look from a middle-aged man with the curliest mustache she'd ever seen. She ignored him. How could she have forgotten? She'd told him she'd go on a date with him tonight. Damn it all to Hell. She was going to kill Ron for giving out her number.

_Yes, it's me. I thought you were someone else, sorry. I haven't forgotten._

She didn't normally lie, but she really didn't care if she lied to Cormac. He was egotistical and he was pig-headed and she could barely tolerate to be in his presence for more than two minutes. How was she going to last an entire  _evening_?

Her phone rang and she sighed in relief when she saw it was the pharmacy calling her.  _They must have filled it early_. She swiped her phone to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, Ms. Granger?"

"This is she," Hermione answered.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Her gut dropped to her feet for the second time that day and the nausea suddenly hit her.  _God, please, no._

"Yes?" she asked hesitantly.

"Unfortunately, it seems as if we don't have your prescription in stock right now. We were expecting a shipment yesterday, but the delivery truck driver got into a bit of a nasty accident; so, everything has been delayed."

Hermione's mouth went slack and she wasn't even sure what to think or say. She  _needed_  her medication. Without it, she would…she  _could_ …a chill ran through her when she thought of all the times she'd woken up in places, not remembering how she'd gotten there. She tried to swallow saliva that wasn't there.

"You-you don't understand. I  _need_  my medication. Have you already called to see if any of your sister pharmacies have it in stock?" she asked.

"Yes, Ms. Granger. The same deliver truck stops by each of our stores in town. All of the deliveries are delayed," the woman said, sounding somewhat miffed. She was probably offended that Hermione didn't sound sorry about what happened to their employee, or that she hadn't bothered asking if they were okay. The woman wasn't talking about him in past tense, so that meant that he was alive then, right? As selfish as it sounded, Hermione was more concerned about getting her medication.

"Okay, um…when do you think the shipment will be in?"

"Probably Monday. We're closed on Sundays."

Hermione bounced her leg up and down, and tapped her fingers against the wooden table impatiently. "I can't wait that long," she said shortly. "What about alternatives? Is there another medication that is similar? Perhaps a generic brand?"

"There is a generic brand, but you'd need prior authorization before I could fill it for you."

"It's Saturday," Hermione said lamely.

The woman on the other end seemed to soften, because her next words sounded more apologetic. "Unfortunately, there's nothing else I can do, Ms. Granger. My hands are tied. Your medication is for headaches, correct?"

It took everything in Hermione to not yell at the woman in the middle of the coffee shop. "Yes," she hissed out.

"Have you tried Excedrin?"

Hermione clenched her fist around her coffee cup until her knuckles turned white. "Yes, I've tried Excedrin. The only thing that ever works for me is Ergotamine."

The pharmacist could apparently tell that Hermione was getting very cross, so she decided to end the conversation. "I'll give you a ring once the shipment comes in. It should be sometime Monday morning. I'm so sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Ms. Granger."

Hermione didn't even bother saying good-bye. She angrily tapped on the end call button on her phone, made a nasty mocking face, and said, "I'm so sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Ms. Granger. Gah! Perfect! Just bloody well perfect!"

There was a new notification waiting for her after she hung up.

_How could u forget me? see u at 8 ;) ;) ;)_

She angrily typed out,  _Oh, trust me McLaggen, I wish that I could_ , but then quickly deleted it. She just chose to ignore him.

Cormac had left one smiley winking face too many. Well, more like three too many. She grasped at the sides of her head, and closed her eyes. The migraine stabbed at her; the pain was clawing and itching to be free of this burden that was her cranium. That's how it always felt, anyway. It felt like the pain was always a part of her, but it was also  _apart_  from her. The nausea began to roll over her body in tingling waves. She quivered and the air felt thick.

And that's when she heard it. The murmurs. She glanced up quickly to see the other patrons of the shop looking around them in mild confusion, but it wasn't them she heard – it was something  _else_. The lights on the walls and ceiling were all flickering simultaneously. She dropped her arms to the table, straightened her spine, and looked around curiously like everyone else. Where was the whispering coming from?

And just like that – it had stopped.

The noises were gone and the lights went back to normal.

Hermione knocked back the rest of her coffee, stood, and slid her phone into her jacket pocket.  _Lord, do I need a nap. I'm going even more bonkers than I already am._

On her way out of the shop, a tall, dark-haired man with glasses bumped into her shoulder as he was passing, and almost knocked her over. He'd paused for the slightest moment, his shoulders tense, but he hadn't acknowledged his error.

"Well,  _excuse_  you, too!" Hermione snapped at the man, but he either didn't hear her, or he blatantly ignored her. She was sure which one it was, and suppressed the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

It wasn't even ten in the morning yet and it was already a  _shit_  day. A shit day, she reminded herself, that had only just begun.

The crisp air hit her full force and she pulled her scarf back up over the lower half of her face again. Hermione sighed, and decided to head home. She was going to need to take a very long nap if she was expected to even remotely tolerate McLaggen tonight.

While she walked home, she briefly wondered if she could fake her own death to get out of her date. Was that being dramatic?

* * *

 **It was**  a good thing she hadn't bothered putting much effort into making herself look nice for Cormac, because he'd taken her to a dive pub. He'd taken someone with the worst migraine on Earth at the moment to a dive pub. How  _perfect_  – how fitting.

She'd dressed for comfort with the small hope (okay, nix that,  _large_  hope) that maybe she'd been embarrassing-looking enough where Cormac wouldn't bother asking her on a second date. The way he kept trying to touch her waist, hips, and arse told her a different story, though. Apparently, her homeless bag lady of a wardrobe wasn't going to deter him. Pity.

Their date mostly consisted of him asking her to dance and her telling him no.

It also consisted of her swatting his hands away from various areas on her body.

Oh, and let's not forget her favorite part of the night: doing her best to ignore the pounding clawing at her skull.

The nap she'd had earlier actually helped a lot, but now the bass that was drumming out through the speakers from the mediocre live band that was playing made it come back all over again.

Hermione was miserable. Between the loud music, the drinks constantly trying to be forced on her by her date, and his roaming hands, she'd had enough. She just wanted to  _leave_. She just wanted to leave and to go home and sleep.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled through her and she briefly wondered if she should just make herself throw up on his shoes. Maybe he would take her home, then.

"Do you think we could leave? I'm not feel very well all of a sudden," she yelled over the music.

"What?" he yelled back, still bouncing along to the rhythm of the shitty song that was playing.

Hermione leaned in closer and said, "Could we  _leave_?"

Cormac's face lit up with a conspiratorial understanding, which made her cringe.  _Oh, Lord._ He'd taken that the wrong way _. Oh, well. Whatever gets me out of this Hellhole. I'll deal with his misunderstanding after we leave._

He grinned mischievously at her and said, "Sure."

When she turned to grab her jacket, she rolled her eyes, and made a face. After they were ready to go, Cormac threw his arm over her shoulder and she tensed for a few seconds before relaxing. He maneuvered them out of the crowded pub, and into the freezing October air. Hermione inhaled deeply, replacing the second-hand cigarette smoke in her lungs with fresh, crisp air. There weren't many cars passing, but people were spilling out of the different bars along this part of town.

"So," he started in a suggestive tone, his eyebrows wagging, "My place, or yours?"

Hermione's face scrunched up. "Listen, Cormac…I had a really great time and all," she lied, "but I've had a terrible migraine most of the day. Is there any way you could just…walk me home?"

His face had begun to turn a bit red, but he recovered quickly. "Yeah, sure," he said with a wave of his hand that was hanging over her shoulder. "Just lead the way."

Hermione smiled her first real smile that night. "Thank you so much, Cormac. I really appreciate it. My head hurts something awful."

He hummed and they started walking toward her flat that was a few blocks away. Then, he added, "We'll just have to go out on a second date to make up for it."

Her shoulders tensed up again, but it was quite obvious that he hadn't noticed. "Uh…yeah, sure…" she trailed off, not sure what else she could possibly say. She didn't have the mental energy to try and talk her way out of it. She'd defer it, and save it for another day.

They walked down the darkened streets that were only lit by the occasionally flickering street lamp. Hermione stayed quiet, but Cormac kept talking about the upcoming football skirmishes that he was going to be playing in, and how she should come watch him play sometime. She nodded, but had no intention of going.

Cormac's voice suddenly sounded muffled as he spoke and the sides of her vision blurred. She could feel her blood pump, pump, pumping to her head. She could hear her heartbeat thump, thump, thumping in her ears. Her world was spinning, she was losing control, and she was  _frightened_.

She was having a migraine induced aura.

Hermione panicked.  _No, no, no, no, no. Not now, not now._

Cormac was completely unaware as they rounded the corner. She could see her building. She was so close,  _so close_. If they hurried, she could get there and…

Her world turned black.

* * *

 **It was**  cold.

The sun was just beginning to rise.

When Hermione opened her eyes, her vision was blurred. She pushed herself up on the damp grass, and tried to get her bearings. She brought a hand up to her forehead. It felt wet from the dew, but at least she didn't have a migraine anymore. Her eyes widened in alarm.

She didn't have a migraine anymore.

She never made it home.

She remembered last night.

_Cormac._

That's when she heard a scream that coagulated her blood.

Cormac was lying a meter from her in the soft grass near a bush. His clothes were torn to shreds. Parts on the skin on his face and neck looked like black ink had bled through his veins. His wide eyes were erased of all color. There was blood dripping from cuts on his body.

Hermione fell back on her bum, and scrambled away from his body in terror. Her palms slid on the grass underneath her and that's when she noticed that it wasn't dew.

Blood was dripping from her, too.

And that's when she'd also noticed something else.

It was  _her_  who was screaming.

* * *

 **A/N:**  I know, I'm such a horrible person for starting this. Since I plan on this being more of a thriller, I probably won't be answering questions about where the story is going. I wanna leave that suspense and mystery, you know? I wanna try to, at least. FYI There is still MAGIC in this story, but it will be a bit different than what we know and love in the books/movies. A bit more raw, I suppose. Also, not every character in here from the HP series is magical. Updates won't be as often for this one as I have for Fostering a Nightmare, but they will still happen.

Thanks for reading. ily baby boos


	3. It Was like Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: While reading this chapter, please realize that I'm not a lawyer or a mental health professional. I just read a few articles to help me make this chapter seem somewhat realistic. I know I probably got some shit wrong, but oh well. haha

* * *

_"The mind cannot support moral chaos for long. Men are under as strong a compulsion to invent an ethical setting for their behavior as spiders are to weave themselves webs." –John Dos Passos_

* * *

It was hard to focus with all the noise.

They'd put her on a new kind of medication - some sort of sedative - and her body wasn't used to it. She wasn't used to this.

Pupils were staring, staring, staring at her...and the voices - the  _whispering_. It had been the first time since she'd heard them in the coffee shop the day that -

_No_. She shook them away.

She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't think about it. Hermione wanted to think of something happier, but it was hard to grasp. At first, she'd thought of her parents, but how could she possibly pull up happy memories of them when their tired, worried faces were currently focused on her?

Her mum had silent tears rolling down her cheeks and it broke Hermione's heart. She wanted to cry - wanted to  _scream_  - but the pills in the little paper cup they'd forced her to drink down with bottled water made it impossible.

It was a weird feeling; she felt serenity and chaos simultaneously. It was like a hurricane was happening all around her, but at the center - at the eye of the storm - was her; she was the calm of the storm; she was the serenity.

It had to be a lie, though; because how could a murderer possibly be serene?

"How does your defendant plead?"

Hermione's reflexes moved too slowly as she turned her head to watch her lawyer stand to his feet. Percy Weasley cleared his throat, "Not guilty by reason of insanity, Your Honor."

A puff of air escaped her nostrils when she heard his words. That's right, she'd almost forgotten. She was labeled as  _insane_  now. It was the brand she'd been avoiding being attributed to her since she was eleven; and now, here it was, blackened across her forehead for the rest of her life. Everything she'd worked so hard to achieve -  _gone._

Her schooling?  _Gone_.

Her career?  _Gone_.

Her life?  _Gone_.

All because she'd forgotten to call to get her prescription refilled on time. All because the truck driver with the shipment got into an accident. All because of -

_No._

She had to stop blaming it on other people, or even herself. The truth had been ignored for far too long and she knew it. She just had to accept the truth for what it was: She was mad and she was a murderer.

Hermione had murdered Cormac and she couldn't even remember doing it. She was a danger to herself, and to others. She needed to be locked away; it was the only way to keep innocent people safe.

Her eyes caught Cormac's grieving parents sitting on the far side of the room. Hermione hung her head in shame.

_God_ , did she ever hate herself. Hermione didn't know which was worse: seeing her parents like this, or seeing  _his_. Both sets of parents had lost their only child. The only difference was, Hermione had to suffer through all the guilt and heartbreak. This was her punishment for being sick. This was her punishment for being  _her_.

The court proceedings continued, but Hermione hardly paid any notice. She already knew she'd be found guilty; the evidence was stacked so high against her. The coroner determined Cormac died of asphyxiation, but not before being sliced hundreds of times all over his body. They said he'd still been alive when she'd tortured him. The only thing they didn't have was a murder weapon; nothing was found at the scene of the crime. The only thing found at the scene of the crime was a young, crazed-looking woman drenched head to toe in the victim's blood.

Best case scenario: she'd be sent to a mental institution. Worst case scenario: she'd be set free.

Her fingernail absently scratched and picked at the leather restraints around her wrists as witness after witness took the stand; the restraints were a necessity, they'd said. She didn't argue with them.

An odd tickling sensation hit her: it felt like spider webs weaving in and out of her pores. She scrunched her nose, but it was still weaving, weaving, weaving. She brought her restrained hands up, and rubbed her fingertips across her face, but it was still  _spindling, spindling, spindling_...

Hermione slowly dragged her nails down her cheeks to dig the spider webs out. They didn't hurt, but they were  _irritating_  and she just needed to get them out, so she could -

"Why aren't Ms. Granger's restraints locked to her chair!?"

She jumped at the booming voice of the judge, and stared wide-eyed at him in shock. All eyes in the room were on her. An officer hurried over to her, and shackled her leather restraints to the chair. Hermione sucked in a gasp when she saw her hands. Her fingers were smeared with blood. Percy handed her a handful of tissues and she started wiping the blood away.

"As I was just saying, it is my professional opinion that Ms. Granger would benefit greatly from being admitted to Azkaban Behavioral Health. After looking through her medical records, it's quite evident that she's been misdiagnosed," said a handsome man Hermione hadn't noticed before sitting in the witness stand. He had jet-black hair, pale skin, dark eyes, and looked to be in his early thirties. He wore thick-framed glasses and a traditional, black business suit. Everything about his appearance looked plain, but the way he  _sat_...casually leaned back, patiently waiting.

Hermione watched him. His body language was open – shoulders back, arms uncrossed, nodding every ten to fifteen seconds, just the right amount of eye contact. She learned about it in one of her classes when communicating with patients. It was the sign of an active listener, but it reminded her more of the way a spider would use the optical illusion of its web to lure a moth to its death.

The longer she examined him, the more the spider webs thread through her skin. The movement of his mouth as he spoke was a distraction. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't place what it was.

"In your professional opinion, Dr. Riddle, would you consider Ms. Granger to be, by legal definition, insane?" asked the prosecutor.

"In my professional opinion?" he repeated, then paused. His dark eyes slid to hers, and locked on tight. She would have felt like a prisoner to her chair, even if she didn't have the restraints. "I'm afraid I'd have to conduct a thorough psychological evaluation before giving you my honest opinion. But based on files and what I have seen just a moment ago, there is a high possibility it could be schizophrenia. And if it is, then she needs medical treatment immediately."

_Kill him,_  a little girl's voice whispered, dripping thick like honey into her ears.

The stale air of the courtroom filled Hermione's lungs with fire and she closed her eyes.

_No. Never again,_ she replied.

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found the doctor still looking at her while he told the courtroom all the reasons why she should receive treatment. Everyone hung on his every word; everyone willingly climbed into the web he had spun specifically for them.

He was a spider. His body was the same, but his eyes had changed for only a split-second. They'd flashed red; they'd flashed red like the reflective eyeshine of a predator at night.

* * *

It was the first day after her sentence had been determined. Her sentence: to spend an undetermined amount of time in Azkaban Behavioral Health, receiving treatment. Percy had told her to remain optimistic, but to not expect to get out anytime soon. She could be a patient there for the rest of her  _life_.

"Not guilty by reason of insanity cases are nearly  _impossible_  to win, you know. I really can't believe we won. I think we have Dr. Riddle's expertise to thank for that. He's quite possibly the best psychiatrist in the country. You'll be receiving the  _best_ care you could possibly get. You don't even realize how lucky you truly are," he'd told her earlier that morning.

Lucky? Hermione wasn't quite sure she believed him. All she could think of was his long legs walking along the web he weaved like a tightrope; inching closer, and closer, and  _closer_  to her...

"Hermione Granger?"

She sucked in a breath, and jumped at the sound of her name. A friendly-looking, middle-aged woman with strawberry blonde hair gathered at the nape of her neck was smiling down at her. She looked clean and crisp in her white scrubs.

"Yes?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you, dear. You're all checked in, so now I can show you around our facilities before you get settled in your room."

"Oh. Right. Of course," she replied lamely, and stood from her seat in the empty room they'd left her in.

"They didn't take you out of those yet?" the woman asked, shocked.

Hermione followed her line of sight to the leather restraints still bound around her wrists, frowned, and shook her head. "No."

The woman clicked her tongue in disapproval, and started unfastening it. "I'm sorry about that. Someone was supposed to take these off as soon as you arrived. There! I'm sure that's better," she smiled at Hermione, which she couldn't help but return, despite her bleak mood.

She rubbed her wrists. "Yes, it is. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. Come on, I'll give you the grand tour of Azkaban."

The facility was enormous and... _nice_. There were four wings in the hospital: the women's dorms, then men's dorms, the medical offices, and then the treatment center. There was a common area where patients that were on good behavior could play games and socialize. There was a courtyard, a garden, a cafeteria, and even a small library.

For a few minutes, it made Hermione feel a bit more optimistic of her stay, until she remembered  _why_  she was there to begin with. This place was  _too_ nice. She didn't deserve this. She'd killed someone, so why should she get this kind of treatment? Why should she get to live this way, when Cormac didn't get to live at all? She'd robbed him of his chance at life, yet she got to live hers up.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't justice. This was slapping a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound, and telling her that everything would be better.

"Do you have any questions?"

Hermione blinked away her tears. She looked back at the woman, and shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Alright, but if you think of anything, feel free to ask. Let's go get your daily schedule, and then I'll show you to your room."

When they walked back through the common area to get her schedule from the front desk, Hermione noticed a young woman around her age. She had long, wild hair the color of golden hay and her eyes were silver. She was leaning her forehead against one of the windows overlooking the garden, singing in a child-like voice, " _Mary, Mary, quite contrary; how does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, and pretty maidens all in a row."_

Hermione had been so enthralled with watching the unearthly girl singing the nursery rhyme to herself, she ended up bumping into a body. She yelped in surprise when a pair of spider legs wrapped around her shoulders like silk.

Dr. Riddle was smiling down at her. "Be careful, Ms. Granger. You might hurt yourself if you don't watch where you're going."

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. He was even more handsome up-close. "I was distracted. The facility is impressive. It's a lot to take in."

He dropped his hands from her shoulders, looked around the common area, and nodded in agreement. "Yes, it  _is_  a lot to take in, but you'll get acclimated to it with time; I'm sure."

Hermione didn't like the finality of his tone, so she chose not to say anything at all. She noticed that the girl had stopped singing, so she glanced back in her direction. The blonde girl's eyes were glued on Dr. Riddle, but he seemed oblivious to her stare. Hermione shifted her weight uncomfortably on her feet, and brought her attention back to him. He was still smiling down at her.

"Right. Well, I have business to attend to. We'll be meeting for our first session sometime this week, Ms. Granger. Until then," he said with a slight nod, and left the room. Her face tickled again; he'd left his spider webs in his wake.

" _So many pretty maidens_ ," the blonde girl sang again, and pressed her forehead to the window once more. Her warm breath fogged up the glass. " _So many pretty maidens, all in a row. With silver bells, and cockle shells. This is how your garden grows_."

* * *

**A/N** : Alright, since this is quickly getting creepier than I'd originally anticipated, I'm changing the genre to Suspense/Horror. There will still be a romantic element (and  _smut_ later on), but not enough for me to label this as romance first. Also, this story is un-beta'd for now. I'm just kinda doing my own thing with it. I hope you like where I take it. Deuces, homies. ily


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